


A Short Time Ago, In A Galaxy Very, Very Close

by clockworkrobots



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-08
Updated: 2012-05-08
Packaged: 2017-11-05 00:48:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/400049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clockworkrobots/pseuds/clockworkrobots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where season 7 never happened but a Star Wars marathon did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Short Time Ago, In A Galaxy Very, Very Close

The first weekend of the first month after the end of all things—after botched apocalypses, botched attempts to reinstate apocalypses, botched attempts for one or all of them to stay dead, all of it—they sat down, all of them, and had a Star Wars marathon.

It wasn’t anything premeditated. It wasn’t anything planned, or scheduled—things so rarely ever were in their lives, anyway—but it happened one Sunday afternoon that Dean flopped down on Bobby’s sofa, and turned on the tv to find Luke Skywalker angsting his way across Tatooine. It was some sort of marathon on some sort of sci-fi channel, Dean supposed, although he was not one to dwell on the particulars, because who was he to ever question when motherfucking Star Wars was on tv. As much as he might be a Trekkie at heart, his childhood hero-worship of Han Solo had never managed to quite burn out.

Soon enough it came that Sam, too, woke up, and ambled his absurdly tall body down the stairs and into the living room to join him. Sitting somewhat gracelessly down next to him, hair still ever floppy, Sam’s entrance was soon followed by Cas’, who flickered into existence mid-way through Ben Kenobi’s first similarly enigmatic appearance. Soon enough all three of them are lined up on the couch with Dean smack in the middle, watching Star Wars on a rainy May afternoon.

The post-apocalyptic life had some perks.

“Han Solo seems unusually brash for someone who can’t really afford to upset anyone, not in his financial situation,” Cas states somewhat confusedly halfway through the bar fight scene, eyes scrunched a bit in that adorably awkward way—and Dean did not just call him adorable.

He scoffs. “I think the word you’re looking for is unusually awesome.”

Sam leans over behind Dean to whisper conspiratorially in Cas’ ear. “Dean has a little crush on Han Solo, if you know what I mean.”

“Shut up, bitch” Dean says automatically as deflection, although his concentration is glued to the screen as Harrison Ford postures through the definition of handsomeness, and his defense weakens.

They carry on like this through the rest of A New Hope, Cas making idle comments and Dean explaining why no really, this is so cool, and how do you not think Han Solo is the best, Sam, until they reach the end of the credits and whatever channel they’re watching is gearing up for the beginning of The Empire Strikes Back.

“You gonna stay for the rest, Cas?” Dean asks hesitantly, trying not to betray how much, yeah, it’d be cool, you know, if he… did that.

He’d gotten used to Cas’ incessant warmth at his side, okay?

“I have no where pressing to be. I believe I would like to see how Luke Skywalker overcomes such impossible odds.”

And that, that’s just the ticket to Dean’s heart right there. He grins wide, “Oh, you’re in for a treat.”

 

***

 

As the last of the credits fade out on Return of the Jedi, and as the last of Dean and Sam’s arguments over the value of Ewoks peter out, Sam stretches lazily, long limbs almost smacking Dean in the face in the process.

“Dude, watch it, you sasquatch,” Dean protests, as Sam rises from his indented spot on the couch. What a great way to waste the day.

Sam huffs in laughter, saying: “Hey, it’s not my fault you’re so short,” just before Dean throws a couch cushion at him, which only makes Sam laugh more as he makes his way to the stairs, presumably to go get his laptop to actually do something productive today. Dean possesses no such inclination, and stays seated on the couch.

Cas stands up too, as Sam disappears upstairs, coat now rumpled as ever, since he never took it off, and as Dean’s stomach rumbles he decides to finally gets up with him to find further entertainment for the afternoon in the fridge. Coming back from the kitchen to lounge again after cracking open a beer, Dean finds Cas still standing there, arms hanging limply at his sides, as if waiting for Dean to give him his blessings before he leaves. Huh. He’d honestly expected the angel to have popped off by now.

“I guess you have some angel shit to get back to, huh?”

Cas turns to face him. “Yes,” he says simply. “Although, I have to say I did… enjoy this. I missed it,” Cas adds honestly, almost regretful now that he has to take his leave, and Dean wants to burst out laughing at the novelty of that statement: ‘Hi, I’m an angel of the lord and I can kill you with a thought—oh, and I like Star Wars and lazy Sunday afternoons’.

And why is that so goddamn attractive.

“Well, you know,” Dean rubs the back of his neck, shuffling about while avoiding Cas’ eyes. “Thanks for that—for, for staying,” because really, he is grateful. They don’t get to do this often, hang out like they might be normal people—probably because they aren’t normal people, and Cas, well, he’s not really a person is he—the notion of Cas just hanging out is mildly preposterous—but Dean supposes there’s a first time for everything. Since all the intense cluster-fuck of angels and demons and batshit craziness ended, they hadn’t really been able to see much of each other, while Cas was still reorganising heaven in the wake of Raphael and his own missteps committed while defeating him (but thank god he had returned those souls just in time—who knows what could have happened). In the spirit if the occasion, perhaps Dean might take a dive at another first, and so he takes a deep breath to say: “Listen, Cas, I—,” he begins a bit brokenly (he was never good at this stuff), but Cas holds up a hand, knowing.

Cas smiles—that stupid, small, charming, infuriating smile—and says only, “I know.”

And though Dean might like to consider himself the space-fighting, Millenium Falcon hustling buccaneer, god damn if being virtually Han Soloed by Cas himself wasn’t the best part of his year.


End file.
